Dancing Through Sunday
by moon-dragon3
Summary: Harry's mixed up. Snape's confused. Self harm, eating disorders, depression. Seen it all before? Try it - you might like it.


SUMMARY: Harry struggles with issues. Snape is a snarky bastard. Sound familiar? It should be, I've been writing it since before most of the fanfiction came out, and procrastinating a hell of a lot!  
  
DISCLAIMER  
  
I do not own these characters. I can't even be bothered to try and make this funny as nobody reads disclaimers except possibly the original author, and I doubt she'd laugh even if I did make it funny because this story would probably make her weep at the monster she has created etc. etc. ('she' being JK Rowling who owns all these characters)  
  
IF you are offended by the following: self-harm, bulimia, depression, suicidal thoughts, and other unpleasant things including child abuse, then I would advise you NOT to read any further. If you do read this and object to the way those issues have been portrayed, then feel free to comment or email me privately ( opiacheaol.com ) HOWEVER all of these issues are ones I have had experience with and if all you want to do is tell me I don't understand it, then don't bother. I do. (Although I will gladly argue with you if you want)  
  
FINALLY don't necessarily expect a happy ending. It's highly unlikely. The issues above are not conducive to happily ever after in most cases.  
  
Ok? Read on!  
  
The door swung open in front of Harry and Ron as they entered the Burrow, and Mrs Weasley engulfed Harry in an oily hug, wiping her hands on her apron.  
  
"Harry dear. . .do come in, I'm sorry we couldn't have had you earlier. . .just leave your bags by the door, Tabby will take them up as soon as she's finished helping me with the weeding."  
  
"Our house elf" explained Ron at Harry's raised eyebrow, "We treat her well, and it's nice to be able to afford one."  
  
Shortly after the events at the Ministry of Magic, Ron's father had been elected deputy Minister of Magic, and the family had come into wealth at long last. Harry couldn't think of nicer people to get a windfall.  
  
Putting his bags down, he followed Ron upstairs and grinned as he looked around the repainted room. Ron shrugged and smiled.  
  
"A friend of dad's did it for me. I like it."  
  
"Yeah" agreed Harry. "It's good."  
  
They stood in silence for a moment before Harry ran a hand through his hair.  
  
"I stink. Mind if I have a shower?"  
  
"No, go ahead" said Ron. "I should owl Hermy."  
  
"Hermy?"  
  
Ron's ears went red and he busied himself with a quill as Harry went towards the bathroom, chuckling.  
  
As soon as he was inside, he allowed the smile to fall from his face and began running a shower. His eyes were uncharacteristically sombre as he pulled his jumper off to reveal scores of bruises and red raised welts. It had certainly not been a good summer. At least his face was clear though.  
  
His summer had begun well, but an incident with Tonks had gone down unpleasantly with the Dursleys and so he had been locked in his cupboard, suffering the first physical abuse he could remember at the hands of his uncle. He couldn't think why he didn't write to the Order and tell them; after all, he had to continue with his little letters saying he was fine, etc. etc. And he had survived, apparently quite well. In any case, Mrs Weasley hadn't commented on how thin he was, which must have meant that he had put on weight.  
  
Now, he felt older. Disillusioned with Dumbledore's lack of omniscience, ashamed with himself for not being able to fight off Vernon, he felt worthless and ugly. As he was ruthlessly beaten there had seemed to be so much of him, expanding.  
  
The jets of water stung at his marred back like the whip itself and he moaned slightly. Indeed the force of the shower opened up some of the more recent mutilations and the tiles began to turn red. Roll on tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow when he would be back at Hogwarts. Tomorrow when he could try and cast some numbing spells on himself without being expelled. Again.  
  
He exhaled deeply and realised that he'd probably spent too long. Stepping out, he felt a little less stiff, and less. . .dirty. Thankfully the towels were spelled to stay clean, and the small amount of blood that came off his ribs was absorbed into the thick material. He put his clothes back on, not too bothered that they were dirty. At least he was cleaner than he had been.  
  
He brushed his teeth, having missed lunch - and the Dursleys weren't too keen on feeding him themselves. By now his stomach had stopped growling and he felt more tired than hungry, despite not having eaten that day.  
  
His reflection blinked sleepily at him in the mirror and he turned away, suddenly angry with himself.  
  
"Freak" he said, his voice low and dark, and he shut his eyes, willing himself to relax.  
  
Finally, happy and calm looking, he went along the landing to Ron's bedroom, and pushed open the door. He choked on seeing his two best friends rolling around on the bed, kissing passionately, and backed away.  
  
"Uh, sorry" he muttered, and fled downstairs.  
  
It wasn't that much of a surprise, really. The only difference it made was that he had to knock on doors before entering. On the train journey they both took time to speak to him, and it didn't seem like he was going to be neglected by his two best friends, for which he was grateful. Being alone at that point in his life wasn't really something that appealed to him.  
  
The first thing he noticed was different when he got back to school was that people pointed and whispered about him even more than usual, though he wasn't quite sure why. The other thing was that his magic seemed to be much worse than it had at the end of the last year. His spells were weak and inaccurate, his transfigurations sloppy. And his potions - well, he hadn't had a chance to test them out yet. But he had a feeling he wouldn't last for long in the NEWT Potions class.  
  
He wasn't altogether surprised to be summoned back to Snape's office for Occlumency lessons, having revealed his weakness to Voldemort the previous year. From the look of the glares Snape kept shooting at Harry and Dumbledore, he was just as happy about it as the young Gryffindor.  
  
"Potter" he snarled, slamming the door behind Harry on the first night, "You're late."  
  
Harry gritted his teeth and tried to calm himself. He wasn't sure he could actually handle Snape, on top of his horrible summer, and now the thought that he was losing his magical abilities.  
  
"I said, you're late."  
  
Snape looked evil, the shadows dancing off his hooked nose and his skin dull in the pale candle-light.  
  
"Sorry sir" said Harry flatly, and Snape swooped very suddenly over to him, causing Harry to flinch.  
  
"Believe me, Potter, any cheek and I will make your life a living hell."  
  
"Yes sir" he said dully, and Snape scowled before sweeping away.  
  
"I will assume" he said, reaching for his wand, "That you have been practising clearing your mind. Optimistic as that may seem. Legilimens!"  
  
Suddenly filled with a flood of terror, Harry dived down, evading the spell. His mind was indeed blank, but probably not in the way that Snape wanted. There was a heavy sigh, and Snape glowered over the top of the desk. Harry suddenly felt very foolish, and straightened up. Then he felt in excruciating pain as the feeble numbing charms he had applied disintegrated. If Snape noticed, he said nothing, waiting for Harry to steady himself before blasting him with the spell again.  
  
Unbidden, an image of Ron and Hermione flashed through his head and he tried to pass it on, until he latched on to a picture of the Weasley's house, and tried desperately to fix it into his mind. Unfortunately luck was not on his side, and with ease Snape dragged back the image of Ron and Hermione kissing on the bed. With a sadistic chuckle he released the spell and flung the door open.  
  
"Hopefully tomorrow you will have some extra incentive to practise" he called after Harry, who fled his room, wondering what that was supposed to mean.  
  
All was made painfully clear the next morning when Ron dragged him roughly out of bed and let him fall to the floor, causing Harry to almost scream with pain.  
  
"You bastard" he said, his eyes wide with disbelief. "I cannot believe you'd do something so horrible. Hermy's mental with rage."  
  
"What?" mumbled Harry, trying to crawl back into bed.  
  
"Telling them all. . .that I'd slept with her. . .she's getting so much stick, Harry. Are you really that bitter?"  
  
Pieces began to fall into place and Harry swore.  
  
"It's not how it sounds" he began, but Ron turned away.  
  
"Fuck you, Harry" he spat, and left. And Harry was alone.  
  
He couldn't face breakfast after that. He couldn't face anything. He felt desperate enough to do something stupid, which he did, not realising just how stupid it would turn out to be.  
  
He had heard Dudley talking in the holidays about a girl at his school, called Annie. Apparently she was nice but slightly disturbed, and had scars, not on her wrists from suicide attempts, but on her arms and legs. Small scars, where she had cut herself. Dudley said they'd had a talk about it at school, it was a method of coping with stress and unhappiness. Harry had subconsciously hidden it at the back of his mind, but now he looked around the dormitory it didn't seem like such a crazy idea. It wasn't like he couldn't use a bit of stress relief, and anything was worth trying once.  
  
Rolling his trouser leg up slightly, he rummaged around on the floor until he found a pin, a muggle pin. It was near Dean's bed; it must have fallen down when he changed his posters around. Straining his ears for approaching footsteps, he heard none, and pressed down with the tip of the pin. The area of skin surrounding the pressure point went white in a wave, but as he released the pin there was no blood, although a faint pain lingered. Had the bell not gone, he didn't know what he would have done, but as he picked up his bag quickly, he slipped the pin inside his pencil case on a whim before leaving for his first lesson.  
  
Double Potions was barely tolerable. Hermione sat with Lavender in the corner, puffy eyed, and all the Gryffindors in the room glared at him as he entered. The look on Snape's face was so evil that Harry almost expected him to erupt into maniacal cackles. His potion was, again, botched; he was certain his magic was failing, as well as his confidence. Had he no pride, he might have been tempted to drop Potions. He reminded himself that he was a Gryffindor and he would stick the course out. Possibly.  
  
He felt ill, too. His back burned and throbbed, and he almost wished he could see what damage had been done. He felt alternately boiling and freezing and always sick and clammy. He thought at one stage that he was going to throw up inside his cauldron and it was only the contemplation of what might happen to the potion if he did that settled his stomach somewhat.  
  
By the end of the lesson he really did feel like he was going to pass out, and was willing to do anything to make himself feel better. He went to the bathroom and locked himself in a cubicle, retching, but nothing happened. Resting his head against the wall, he took deep steadying breaths that never quite managed to fill his lungs, and as another wave of nausea swept over him his knees buckled and he fell, hitting his wrist hard against the lock. And there was blood.  
  
Shivering, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve and uncertainly drew a hand to his mouth, tasting the metallic red substance. There wasn't much blood, only a few drops, but he could taste it. One finger traced the path from his tongue to the back of his mouth and down, and he threw up. The shaking in his stomach seemed to diminish immediately and everything seemed better. He felt powerful, able. He had healed himself.  
  
This time, he had no trouble breaking the skin with his pin.  
  
The rest of the day passed in a blur and before he knew it the Common Room began to fill up as people returned from dinner, studiously ignoring him. The thought of his cool, fresh bed awaiting him was a very nice thought, and made the trek down to the dungeons marginally more bearable. Snape's insults were now too bland to penetrate his exhaustion and illness, and so that wasn't too bad either.  
  
Then the spell hit him, and he would swear afterwards that he could actually feel it probing around his mind before his body shut down and with a quiet sigh he slumped to the floor, allowing the world to disintegrate around him.  
  
Snape scowled as the boy gazed vacantly into the wall, ignoring his pointed insults, and cast the spell with more ferocity than he should have. Images flashed too easily, too readily, through his mind and he frowned as he saw looming shapes, dark thoughts, pain, blood. On a gut feeling, he aborted the spell just in time to see Potter fall gracefully down, his head missing the corner of the table by millimetres.  
  
"Potter" he snarled, but the boy didn't move. It was only when he moved closer that he realised he had lost consciousness. Irritated, he lifted his wand.  
  
"Enervate" he snapped into the silence, and Harry's eyes flickered open at precisely the same moment as the concealing charms around his face flickered and failed.  
  
Snape maintained his sneer and stepped back.  
  
"Get up, boy."  
  
He couldn't ignore the flinch that went with those words, and reached out instinctively as Potter lurched forwards, his eyes rolling back.  
  
"Oh for goodness' sake, sit down" he snapped, dropping Potter like a hot potato and feeling slightly guilty at the gasp of pain as he landed unceremoniously on the floor.  
  
"I'm sorry" croaked Potter, and Snape frowned, realising that something wasn't right. Potter's eyes were too bright, his cheeks flushed but sunken in, his skin covered with a faint sheen of sweat.  
  
"Do you need to go to the Infirmary?"  
  
"No. Sir."  
  
It had been a rhetorical question, and now Snape looked piercingly at Potter.  
  
"You're unwell, Potter. You need to see Pomfrey."  
  
"No! Please, no!"  
  
He was getting agitated now, moving around , looking blindly for an escape. Snape had seen it all before, the disorientation, the panic. The sheer, blind terror.  
  
"Get out of my sight, Potter" he snapped, and the boy crawled towards the door. He wrinkled up his nose at the inelegance of the situation and sighed, loud and irritated.  
  
"Stop"  
  
Potter froze in his tracks, one leg extended, his black trousers dusty from the dungeon floor, his hands shaking under the weight of thin arms. He looked barely 11, certainly nothing like a saviour of the wizarding world. He looked ill, and if his reticence to see Poppy was anything to go by, it was something Snape could have an immense amount of fun with. The possibilities were endless, he could have been fighting in school and become concussed, maybe he had been casting illegal spells. . .the scope for getting Potter into trouble was vast. He was so pleased he almost rubbed his hands together with glee.  
  
"What's ailing dear Potter today?"  
  
Potter didn't move, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as Snape helped him upright.  
  
"Nothing" he said tersely, perhaps realising that he was out of his depth.  
  
"Nothing?"  
  
"Noth. . .ow-w"  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow and poked Potter's back again sharply. This time the boy almost fell to his knees and gasped painfully.  
  
"Please, sir" he said, his eyes open and honest. Snape raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Grovelling, Potter? How Hufflepuff."  
  
A desolate tear splashed to the dusty floor and Snape gripped Potter's chin hard, ignoring the boy's wince.  
  
"Potter, do you want me to drag you to the Infirmary?"  
  
"N-no" he whimpered, his eyes fogged now with terror and pain. Snape could feel it, the bitter tang of hurting, radiating off the small body.  
  
"Then cease your whinging!"  
  
Potter looked up at him, thoroughly confused, his face still creased with the attempt to hold back further tears. Snape took a breath, as though to explain, and threw his hands up in the air.  
  
"I despair" he sighed, sitting down. "Potter, you have no subtlety, nor comprehension of. . . bargaining."  
  
"Of course I do" said Potter, almost laughing, his eyes too bright, his cheeks to flushed. "I know you just want to find out what's wrong with me and spread it around your Slytherins! I know you just want to get me into trouble, have me mocked and ridiculed! I'm just trying to stem the inevitable."  
  
He raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Always thinking of yourself, Potter."  
  
The boy didn't rise to his bait, smiling blandly and shrugging.  
  
"Well, what's it to be then Potter? Will you go Pomfrey and have Dumbledore, or will you stay with me and have the rumours circulate?"  
  
Although the sardonic smile remained on his face, he was irritated. Irritated that now Potter was aware of his little plan. Irritated that the boy seemed to have attained a modicum of common sense and perceptiveness.  
  
"I don't know" said Harry, a faint smile hovering about his lips. He tilted forwards, swaying precariously on the spot, before toppling as though he had been hit by a full body bind. Perhaps Snape could have reacted quickly enough to soften his fall, but he didn't feel inclined, and watched with only slight interest, as Potter rolled over, groaning, his hands covering his nose which seemed to be washing the floor in blood.  
  
"O-oow" he groaned, and Snape almost felt a twinge of sympathy. He knew how much a broken nose hurt.  
  
"Come here" he said sharply, and Harry staggered to his feet, muttering under his breath. He looked disorientated, but stumbled over towards Snape.  
  
"Vis reparis" he said, and Harry breathed in relief as his nose fell back into place.  
  
"What else?"  
  
"You won't tell the Headmaster?"  
  
"Why would I want to?"  
  
Harry wasn't comforted, but any vague hope that they would never know of his weakness was still a hope and one he would hold onto.  
  
"I have a fever" he said quietly. "And my ankle is sprained."  
  
"From where?"  
  
"I was in a fight" said Harry, hanging his head. "With a girl"  
  
Snape's eyes lit up and he laughed cruelly.  
  
"I understand" he said. "You may leave."  
  
Despite himself, Harry's head shot up. He had assumed. . .  
  
"If you're in that much pain, go to the nurse. I never said I would heal you" said Snape, and the door slammed heavily behind Harry just as he turned to curse the damned man.  
  
McGonagall frowned at Harry's mouse and put her hands on her hips.  
  
"Mr Potter" she said, and Harry dipped his head so that his face was shadowed by his long hair. "Your mouse appears to have stripes."  
  
The class began to snigger and Harry flushed as McGonagall undid his spell.  
  
"I think it is best for innocent animals if you leave this lesson" she said firmly. "I shall expect you in my study after lessons."  
  
Nodding, his throat constricted, Harry packed up his bag and left, to the silent stares of his classmates.  
  
He would not eat. He would not sleep. He would not grieve. He would not feel.  
  
The metal hung sharp and heavy in his hand as he traced the line of the veins over his slender wrist. He would not die. Not today.  
  
He would not grieve, he told himself, scraping the tears roughly away. He would not feel. He would not feel. He would not. . .he felt.  
  
As the blood ran over his fingers he gasped slightly and dropped the knife, stolen from the Dining Room. It was only a small incision to his finger, but the blood flowed freely and the wound stung fiercely.  
  
He would not feel.  
  
Aware of his lateness, he stumbled to his feet, the fever having abated somewhat during the previous night, and headed towards Professor McGonagall's study. She opened the door and ushered him in, closing the door behind him, and offered him tea. Shaking his head politely, he sat down and waited as she selected a shortbread biscuit and nibbled at it in a feline manner.  
  
"You seem troubled, Mr Potter."  
  
"No professor" he said innocently, "I'm fine."  
  
She looked at him through sharp eyes and raised her eyebrows.  
  
"The other professors have brought to my attention your distraction in lessons, your magical - ineptitude. Really, Potter, this is most unlike you!"  
  
He remained silent, blocking her concern out. He would not feel.  
  
"And there is the matter of your personal health. You must eat more."  
  
Shivering unconsciously, Harry stood up suddenly. He wouldn't feel. He would not eat. He was too fat to eat, too large a target. He had leaned that, if nothing else, this summer.  
  
"Honestly, professor, everything is fine. I will try harder in class. Thank you for your concern but I must be going to professor Snape's remedial potions class now."  
  
Did the words sound so fake to her? Her face was resigned as she bade him good luck and closed the door behind him, but he wouldn't think about. Not tonight.  
  
"Quite recovered, Potter?"  
  
"Quite, sir" he said blandly, feeling much more in control than he had before.  
  
"Then if it is not too much trouble, shall we commence?"  
  
"Yes, sir" he said patiently, not sure what had put Snape in such an odd mood tonight, but at any rate, he wasn't in pain yet, so he couldn't really complain.  
  
"Legilimens"  
  
"Rictusempera!"  
  
This time Snape dodged the spell - well, he had to, for the sake of his pride, mused Harry - but the connection broke, and immediately Harry ducked down behind a bench, heart racing. So many things he didn't want Snape to see. So many things he didn't want Snape to hear or feel. Snape's eyes darkened and his movements were imperceptibly different this time, more elegant and yet stronger. There was an odd beauty about it. . .  
  
"Legilimens"  
  
It had ferocity this time, it was different, uncontrolled, pure evil, and Harry's first instinct was to throw his hands up in front of his face, trying to physically pull Snape from his head. His scar didn't hurt but his head seemed to be on fire and the agonising pain caused him to fall to the ground.  
  
His wand lay on the floor - had he been holding it, he would have been too panicked to reach it. He could hear screams, whimpers and moans, pleading and begging, and knew they were coming from his mouth. Unable to defend himself, he curled into a ball, scratching his head viciously with his nails in an attempt to free himself, and then it was all gone, and there was an emptiness within his head unlike anything he had ever felt before.  
  
He could hear movement but could see nothing, didn't want to see, and then a pair of hands touched his cheekbones, the warmth from them soothing his torture.  
  
"Potter. Potter, look at me."  
  
Snape's voice was shaky and for once contained no malice. Strangely comforted, Harry opened his eyes. Snape was crouched next to him, his face pale and his hair wild.  
  
"Do you remember what happened?"  
  
"Yes" he whispered, and Snape's hands left his face.  
  
"Good" replied the older man brusquely, and straightened up.  
  
"W-what happened?"  
  
Snape had moved away, but returned a few moments later with a vial of something and a basin of water. He began to wash blood off Harry's face, his movements unintentionally gentle. Harry didn't realise he had been shaking until the tremors stopped.  
  
"The spell went wrong. I don't know how. It's never happened before; I lost control."  
  
Harry took a deep shuddering breath, the implications settling on his mind.  
  
"You could have killed me!" he exclaimed, and Snape shook his head, looking entirely remorseless.  
  
"No. You might have lost your mind, but you would not have died. Drink."  
  
Harry downed the vial and took a deep breath.  
  
"There's no point in telling Dumbledore, is there?"  
  
"Professor Dumbledore."  
  
Irritated, Harry got up.  
  
"Have I dismissed you?" asked Snape, now fully recovered. Harry looked at him disparagingly and shook his head.  
  
"No. Sir."  
  
"You may leave. Unless you would like me to heal those scratches on your face first."  
  
Irritated with himself, Harry nodded in acceptance and Snape disappeared into a walk-in cupboard, emerging with another potion.  
  
"Consider yourself privileged, Potter."  
  
Harry downed the potion and felt the scratches heal with something akin to disappointment. He liked being marked.  
  
"Go" said Snape, and Harry went.  
  
Harry didn't notice footsteps behind him until he felt a hand on his shoulder and nearly jumped out of his skin.  
  
"Excuse me"  
  
The voice was cultured, vaguely reminiscent of Nearly Headless Nick.  
  
Harry turned, one eyebrow raised.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"The headmaster wants to speak with you."  
  
It was Blaise Zabini, a lesser-known Slytherin. Harry got to his feet fluidly and followed the prefect towards the main stairway.  
  
"I suppose he's ordered you to escort me?"  
  
Zabini smiled wryly.  
  
"I do apologise. Demeaning, isn't it?"  
  
Harry nodded. He had a fairly good idea of Zabini's past, and could understand why the boy had probably himself been escorted to Dumbledore.  
  
"Would you rather talk?" asked Blaise amiably. "Could be less embarrassing."  
  
"Could be" said Harry with a chuckle. "Do you know what I've done?"  
  
"No. But I did see McGonagall leaving just as he was calling me in, so it could be something to do with her. Maybe to do with the incident in Transfiguration."  
  
"You heard about that?"  
  
"Mm" agreed Zabini. "You have quite a reputation, amongst other things, for being decent with your magic. A striped mouse caused quite a stir amongst the Slytherins. If you get my gist."  
  
Harry nodded, smirking. He knew exactly what Zabini meant.  
  
"Potter, where are you going?"  
  
"To the headmaster's office, sir"  
  
Zabini nodded his agreement.  
  
"I was asked to escort him, Professor."  
  
"Well, I want to see you in my office as soon as you have finished, Potter. As there are no lessons today, you have a test in remedial potions."  
  
Harry choked under his breath, hoping that didn't mean what he thought it meant. Zabini ushered him away, and Harry groaned.  
  
"Remedial potions?"  
  
"Yeah" he said, and whatever he had been planning on following up with was lost by a loud grumble from his stomach. Zabini raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You missed breakfast" he said, "Again."  
  
"You noticed" said Harry dryly. "How touching."  
  
Zabini snorted and shook his head.  
  
"You're far too Slytherin for your own good, Potter."  
  
With a nod, he left Harry outside Dumbledore's office, and disappeared into a back passage.  
  
What Dumbledore wanted was irrelevant. Just a simple enquiry as to Harry's health and well being, passing on McGonagall's concern that he was finding the work hard, apologising on Snape's behalf for the unfortunate incident. . .  
  
. . .if he ever wanted to talk, he was most welcome to come up. . .  
  
. . . yaddayaddaya. . . .  
  
And then he was with Snape. Again.  
  
He left. Blank, dead, cold, ignoring incensed shouts. His head felt like it was going to implode with the memory of the misfired spell. He could be brain-dead. The realisation began to sink in and he took a deep breath. Walking calmly, not feeling, not being. Good boy. Good boy.  
  
Couldn't face Snape. What was he doing? Where was he going? Felt sick. Felt dizzy. Leaned against a wall. Shivering.  
  
Blank  
  
Careful  
  
Good boy  
  
Potter  
  
What?  
  
Doing?  
  
Shake shake. Knock knock, who's there?  
  
Nobody. You're all alone now.  
  
Potter!  
  
He stumbled forwards, clutching onto the wall, jerked painfully out of his reverie. Zabini had appeared out of nowhere - or perhaps he'd been following Harry, talking to him.  
  
"I--"  
  
Zabini looked cautiously at him as though Harry might at any second snap, and put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Are you alright, Potter?"  
  
"Yes" he said, his back throbbing. He felt useless, hopeless, worthless. "Yes, I'm fine."  
  
"I seem to have spent most of tonight hunting for you here and there" he said with a slight smile. "If you're sure you're okay, I'd better deliver you to Snape. He's. . ."  
  
"Livid" finished Harry dully. "I've seen it all before."  
  
Zabini pulled a face and tugged Harry's robe in an oddly child-like manner for the haughty faced young man.  
  
"Come on"  
  
It didn't take too long for Harry to begin to flag. He was worn out with lack of sleep and food and the pace Zabini set was swift. Not that Harry could blame him. If he was in the prefect's shoes he'd want to get there as soon as possible too.  
  
"Potter?"  
  
"I'm coming" he said through gritted teeth, trying to forget how much breathing hurt. Zabini came back around the corner and extended a hand. It was only then that Harry realised that he was on the ground.  
  
"I can't do this" he sighed and Zabini crouched next to him, taking in his greyish skin, his shivering, his exhaustion.  
  
"Come on. We'll go to Snape first, then you should go to the Infirmary. And that wasn't a question" he said, as Harry opened his mouth. Relenting, Harry accepted the hand up and tried not to think of the embarrassment of Zabini practically carrying him through the Dungeons.  
  
"He looks well enough to me" overheard Harry as Zabini and Snape talked in the corner. He leaned against the wall feeling sick and wishing they'd just hurry up and condemn him. His ribs burned and throbbed and his back was excruciatingly painful.  
  
"Potter!"  
  
He blinked up at Snape.  
  
"What's wrong with you, boy?"  
  
"I feel ill" he mumbled petulantly and Snape rolled his eyes. Then Harry realised how ill he really did feel and bolted out of the door, throwing up bile. He leaned his head against the wall wondering how the hell he had managed to keep the facade up for this long. Blaise put a hand on his back steadying him and he thought he would pass out from the pain. Thankfully Blaise removed his hand and then there was a long silence.  
  
"Professor" said Blaise, his voice slightly panicked, "Potter's bleeding."  
  
Shit.  
  
"No I'm not" he said, raising his head with a supreme effort. Snape was looking at him sharply, Blaise had blood on his finger tips.  
  
"Come in Potter" he said coolly and without waiting for a reply, pulled Harry firmly in. "Mr Zabini, you may leave, thank you."  
  
Harry was set down unceremoniously on a hard backed chair while Snape paced and scowled simultaneously.  
  
"Why is your back bleeding, Potter?"  
  
Harry shook his head.  
  
"I asked you a question."  
  
Stooping forwards, Snape looked like Vernon. Large and intimidating.  
  
"S-sorry, sir"  
  
Snape looked taken aback for the briefest of moments.  
  
"For what, Potter? Living?"  
  
When Harry didn't reply, looking down at his lap, the brows furrowed.  
  
"Don't be so ridiculous, Potter. Now, I repeat, why is your back bleeding?"  
  
"It's not, sir. Zabini must have imagined it" he tried. Snape snorted.  
  
"You saw the blood as well as I did, boy. Now kindly explain before I have to put you in a body-bind."  
  
He twirled his wand in his fingers idly as he spoke and Harry's eyes flicked from left to right, searching for an escape route.  
  
"Potter!"  
  
He shook his head hopelessly, feeling his throat constrict. Surprisingly gentle, he heard Snape's voice.  
  
"You leave me no choice. Stupefy!"  
  
He awoke feeling uncannily as though he had been run over by a cave troll. But. . .he was warm at least. He wasn't sure where he was, which was disquieting, but still. He was warm and not feeling quite so ill.  
  
Unfortunately his optimism lasted precisely as long as it took for him to see Snape in the corner and remember what had happened. The black-robed figure was hunched over, talking in a whisper into the fire. Dumbledore, no doubt.  
  
He was so fucked.  
  
Snape turned away and saw that Harry was awake. They locked eyes for a moment, searching and probing before Harry looked away.  
  
"What's going to happen? Sir."  
  
"You should go to the Infirmary" said Snape, his eyes unusually haunted. "The headmaster knows only of your condition and not how you may have come by it. The rest. . ." he shrugged, "Is in your hands, Mr Potter."  
  
Harry blinked in amazement.  
  
"You. . ."  
  
"Careful" said Snape warningly, his eyes narrowing, and Harry's mouth closed with a snap.  
  
Naturally, healing him was a matter of minutes, and he was able to formulate some lame excuse about fights. She never even noticed the parallel scratches on his leg or the deeper cut in his thumb. He made more that night, elegant and beautiful, the blood rich and red like wine. He hated them all. Hated himself for not being careful enough, hated Snape for telling Dumbledore. Hated the thought that now Snape would be looking specifically in his mind for something regarding how he had attained his injuries. Snape knew, Harry knew he knew. He had seen the comprehension in his eyes.  
  
Sighing, he pulled back the curtain. He couldn't sleep, and the even breathing of the other boys was driving him crazy. Like he wasn't already, he mused dryly. Cutting himself - what a screwed up thing to do. And starving as well. Because he had to admit that it had gone beyond the point of 'not being hungry'. He hadn't eaten for days. And he was hungry, starving, but he just couldn't stomach the thought of food.  
  
He padded silently out of the dormitory and, wrapping his outdoor cloak around him, made his way out of the Common Room. The Fat Lady murmured in her sleep, but didn't wake up. Why wasn't he wearing his Invisibility cloak? Well, there was no point in being out late if he wasn't running the risk of being caught. Let them yell at him.  
  
He wandered the corridors aimlessly for a good hour before his aching legs finally brought him to a stop outside the Library. It wasn't really worth his life to be caught in here, but the only books that screamed were in the Restricted Section, and he wasn't interested in those tonight. He settled in a chair that supported rather than chafed his back and began reading a book on the History of Hexes. He didn't sleep - the book was riveting, and anyway he couldn't sleep, which was why he had been wandering about in the first place. At about 6am, when the sun was rising, he returned to the Tower and got dressed in solitude before returning to the Library. Tightening his belt around his waist, he rubbed his eyes and was alarmed to see how sunken they appeared in his face, giving him an almost cadaverous appearance.  
  
Would Sirius look like this?  
  
No. He wouldn't think about that. Closure. Sirius is dead, there's no bringing him back. Stop feeling, stop being so damn emotional.  
  
He picked up an apple from the kitchen. Dobby wasn't there and he was painfully grateful for not having to put on an act of fake cheer so early. Impulsively, he returned the knife as well, while round eyes were not fixed on him. It wasn't like it had been anything more than an experiment.  
  
The apple didn't assuage his hunger much, but he was sure he could remember eating that much for breakfast before. The image of his stomach swelling monstrously popped into his mind. Of course, if he was fatter then he would need more food. So he should be thinner. Thinner for next time he went back to the Dursleys so that he might be less of a target.  
  
Madam Pince was in the library when he returned and she glared at him but said nothing as he took the book he had previously been reading and continued it, hunched over the tome on a chair that was hard against his back. His healed back. He wanted to remember the pain that had haunted him as his punishment and as his atonement through the days but now he was expertly patched up and no bruising remained. Perhaps there were scars; he hadn't looked. Hadn't wanted to.  
  
And, as though reading his mind, a gust of wind flickered through the window that hung ajar, and a leaf of the book flipped over.  
  
"Caution: This hex may cause severe injury."  
  
He looked away quickly. He didn't want to be injured. That was just crazy.  
  
"Previously used in Victorian times by pure-blooded horse-owning wizards, this hex, when applied to the correct area, causes the effect of a whip. Frequent or strong use is not advised as the skin may be broken."  
  
He swallowed and closed the book heavily. The words of the hex imprinted themselves remorselessly upon his mind.  
  
"I don't want it" he told himself weakly. "I don't deserve it."  
  
Torquus Absanguinis  
  
I don't need it  
  
Torquus  
  
Don't  
  
Ab  
  
No!  
  
Sanguinis  
  
Yes.  
  
I do.  
  
He left the library hastily, heading for a bathroom, hoping it would be deserted.  
  
"Torquus Absanguinis" he exclaimed, reaching around his torso at an awkward angle to land the spell somewhere between his ribs and back. No, not good enough. Didn't hurt.  
  
There was no blood!  
  
"Torquus Absanguinis" he tried again, and the lash was more obvious, more firm. More painful.  
  
He repeated the spell until his arms ached, and all of a sudden a wave of pain swept over his back. Instead of doubling up, wincing, crying, he breathed out, feeling like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  
  
This is my penance.  
  
How he struggled through a day of school with his crippling burden he would never know. He had, if anything, been even more brutal than Vernon himself. And he didn't feel free. He didn't feel like it was enough. He wanted the pain, he needed it. And that scared him.  
  
Sat in front of Snape, he no longer held any fear in his heart for the Professor. No insults could hurt as much as what Harry told himself in the middle of the night. Murderer. The worst insult that anyone could throw at him, and it was true. He was, through his own stupidity, insolence and laziness, a murderer.  
  
Which was why he had been, for the past few weeks, actually been doing as Snape asked and clearing his mind at night time. He didn't sleep much anyway, so it didn't matter. He just had plenty of time to clear his mind, and it worked. He could do it, just not as quickly as he would like. So he practised more and more, and he had got to this stage. Where he was sat down, bound and gagged, in Snape's office, waiting for the Potions master to suddenly attack his mind. This wasn't even the worst case scenario, as Snape had been quick to tell him, with a rather nasty smile.  
  
But it was pretty bad.  
  
"Legilimens!"  
  
Think of sheep, think of sheep. Sheep sheep sheep, pink sheep, black sheep, white sheep, bloody sheep, no not bloody sheep, green sheep. Mutilated, whipped sheep, dying sheep. No.  
  
"I think that's enough, Potter" said Snape, one eyebrow raised, looking like he was trying not to laugh. "Fixated on sheep, are we?"  
  
"You asked me to clear my head" growled Harry, feeling stubborn and tired, and aware that he was probably unintelligible through the gag anyway,  
  
"So I did" said Snape silkily. "Let us try again."  
  
They sat in silence before Snape sighed and stood up from his chair. His black robes billowed around him as he moved close to Harry and leaned over, his hair brushing the side of Harry's face.  
  
"Legilimens"  
  
The spell was stronger and unexpected, and Harry had fight to force the invasive presence from his mind. He didn't even know what he was thinking of until he felt the spell end, and Snape stepped back quickly, his face blank but his posture tense.  
  
"That was not very intelligent" he said coolly. "The whole point of this venture - and Albus assures me that there is one - is for you to give nothing away to the Dark Lord."  
  
"What did I do?"  
  
Snape's head snapped around quickly, and he took a step towards Harry.  
  
"You do not realise the magnitude of your idiocy, Potter. You 'showed' me nothing more than blood, but blood can be misinterpreted. There is no safe answer except nothingness, do you understand?"  
  
"Yeah"  
  
"Do - you - understand?" he hissed, his eyes boring into Harry's.  
  
"Yes sir" he said firmly.  
  
"Legilimens."  
  
This time it was grey. Grey he could do. And Snape broke the spell.  
  
"Be on your guard, Potter" he said. "You may leave."  
  
Severus' eyes scanned the Gryffindor table. He had been hoping to give the boy an impromptu test in front of all his friends, purely for his own nefarious purposes, but Potter had been absent for the duration of lunch and dinner. Now he thought about it, Severus wasn't sure he had seen the boy in the day before either.  
  
"Where is Potter" he asked Minerva coldly. She looked up at him and wrinkled her nose.  
  
"I don't see it's any of your business."  
  
"I have a message for him"  
  
"I shall pass it on."  
  
Sighing loudly, he turned away and finished his soup before leaving.  
  
"Where were you at dinner?" he asked, seeing Potter in the Library. The boy looked up, his face tired, and shrugged.  
  
"I didn't feel hungry, sir."  
  
Snape sneered before heading towards the exit, and Harry resumed his reading momentarily before looking up.  
  
"Why do you ask, sir?"  
  
"No reason" said Snape coldly, the door banging shut behind him. Harry's face creased with confusion and he peered in the direction the man had gone.  
  
"Weird" he muttered, and turned his attention back to his book.  
  
It was hopeless. Harry had decided. His magic was failing him utterly, his wand virtually useless. The only aspects of his course he looked set to pass were Potions - amazingly - and divination. He botched the simplest of transfigurations and his wand only emitted puffs of harmless smoke when he tried to hex or curse anything. Even himself. With the lack of pain available from 'Torquus Absanguinis' he had begun to cut himself again, his shoulders, torso and legs, praying that nobody would find out. He didn't know what was causing this and neither did Dumbledore. There had been talk of adolescence, hormones. He knew as well as they did that it was bollocks.  
  
And Occlumency was becoming increasingly harder. He could shield his mind for short periods of time, but he was reliant on hexing Snape for the Legilimens to actually break, and that wasn't seeming possible. He hadn't spoken of his magical weakness, didn't want the professor sneering at him, mocking him. But now it seemed inevitable. He was tense.  
  
There was blood before he even registered himself cutting but he didn't care. He needed it. Needed it to relieve this awful tension, to ease the pain he felt in his chest when he thought of Sirius, himself, his parents.  
  
Sighing deeply he left the bathroom and headed down the corridor to the Potions classroom. When the whispered 'Legilimens' came from a corner he reacted quickly, clearing his mind. Snape stepped out of an alcove, his wand still pointed at Harry.  
  
"Not bad" he admitted grudgingly. "Come"  
  
Harry followed him into the Potions room and took a seat, his forehead creased with the effort of keeping Snape out. Finally the spell broke and Snape looked piercingly at him.  
  
"Why did you not use a spell?"  
  
"I didn't need to" said Harry as arrogantly as he could. As he predicted, Snape scowled. Unexpectedly, he then cast the spell again, catching Harry slightly off guard. This time it was hard from the very start and his shoulders tensed with the strain. The spell did not lessen its hold and he took a deep breath trying to force it back. Too late. He slipped, and images flashed through his mind in front of his eyes. A meaty fist, a rough shout, pain. The spell continued coldly siphoning through his memories and he fought with renewed vigour.  
  
No.  
  
No.  
  
"Torquus Absanguinis" he heard his voice say in the past. It echoed through his head, as did the image of him in the mirror, lashed and bleeding, and Snape closed the spell off. Harry didn't want to look up but when he did there was no malice in Snape's face. He looked tired and rather annoyed.  
  
"Good lord, Potter" he said with an uncharacteristic lack of vitriol, "Of all the things to come to your mind."  
  
Harry groaned and lay back. He suddenly felt quite exhausted. Snape was still musing.  
  
"But of course, the original injuries were too close to your return to school to be self-inflicted."  
  
"May I leave now?" asked Harry, prying that his voice wouldn't give out on him now. "Please?"  
  
"And what am I supposed to do?" Snape looked definitely angry now as he moved closer to Harry. "Am I supposed to let you go, to know that I willingly subjected a boy to the same torture next holidays?"  
  
"I'm not a boy" he said irritably, before realising what Snape had meant. "No! I do not want the Headmaster to find out."  
  
"What you want is not the question, Potter" snapped Snape. "You have proven already that you are incapable of looking after yourself - do not interrupt me you foolish boy!"  
  
Harry's mouth snapped shut and Snape placed his palms deliberately on the table, leaning over to face Harry.  
  
"Understand, Potter, that I have no choice in this matter. Not that choice would make any difference."  
  
Harry's mouth was dry. He couldn't let them know. Couldn't admit to his weakness. He took a deep breath, eyes flickering obviously from side to side, not even looking for an escape route, though. As soon as he tensed his shoulders, Snape's wand flew up to bar the doors and Harry prayed.  
  
"Obliviate!"  
  
There was a terrible silence. Snape was no longer there; he had had the sense, the reflexes to dive off his stool. The spell had completely and utterly failed. Harry was going to have his wand broken. He was going to be expelled.  
  
He forced his eyes to stay calm and blank as Snape picked himself up off the floor and again sat in front of him. He handed over his wand meekly, and Snape toyed with it idly.  
  
"You are a fool, Potter" he said conversationally, "But I must confess, you almost had me fooled."  
  
Harry looked down at his hands.  
  
"Of course, I may be old, but if you had stopped to think about my past, such as you know it, it might have occurred to you that I have overcome stronger spells than that. Although" he tipped his head to the side, eyes narrowed, "that was more like a Squib's magic."  
  
Harry flushed in anger and Snape tilted his head backwards, looking down his large nose at Harry.  
  
"You are losing your magic" he said calmly. "I should have figured it out weeks ago."  
  
"No" whispered Harry. "Please, just get it over with."  
  
"Ah, but that would be too easy" said Snape, moving his face close to Harry's. "And I daresay the Headmaster would find a way to humiliate me whilst letting you off Scot free. So I'm going to handle this my own way."  
  
Somehow Harry wasn't sure that was a good thing.  
  
"Potter"  
  
He stopped unsteadily and rested against the wall. Nobody would look at him, he looked so terrible. He had accidentally caught sight of himself in a mirror earlier and had almost screamed.  
  
"What is that mess meant to be?" asked Snape, catching his eye swiftly before discarding Harry's acceptable potion. "Stay behind after the lesson. It seems we need to discuss our respective ideas of acceptable work."  
  
There were some sniggers, not many. People pitied him now. There was nothing to be resentful of, no reason to hate him. He was just a disgrace.  
  
Slumping down behind his desk he was suddenly hit by another wave of dizziness.  
  
God he though, hasn't this gone on for long enough?  
  
Someone's palm supported his shoulders from behind and he registered dimly that he had been tilting to the side. Blaise caught Snape's swift glance but didn't move and was, surprisingly, joined by Malfoy, who sat on the other side and casually placed one arm on the back of Harry's chair, ready to catch him.  
  
Harry's throat closed up at the sign of caring - or even plain pitying - and he tilted his head forwards so that his hair obscured his eyes.  
  
Dimly in the background there was the sound of clattering, chattering, the class leaving. Time to go? He tried to get up and his legs failed him.  
  
"Drink this" said Snape briskly and Harry felt the vial at his lips, swallowing automatically as it was tipped into his mouth. His vision cleared and he shivered. Blaise didn't move but Draco crouched in front of Harry and peered into his eyes.  
  
"Focus, Potter" he said urgently, and Harry tried, he really did. Snape and Draco exchanged glances and Snape left.  
  
"I've never seen anyone so white in my life" commented Malfoy, and Blaise nodded, still supporting Harry. Harry had never felt so weak in his life.  
  
Snape returned with more potions. Once Harry might have though they were to poison him. Now he couldn't care less. Strength returned to him, he was able to sit up again. Deep breaths. He ached all over but that was alright. He liked it like that.  
  
"You may leave" said Snape, and Blaise hauled Harry upright.  
  
"Not you, Potter. We still have your experiment to discuss."  
  
He clung onto the table edge for dear life and heard rather than saw Draco and Blaise leave.  
  
"I want to know where you got those lash marks from" said Snape immediately, and Harry frowned.  
  
"Don't wanna tell you" he slurred.  
  
"Don't make me feed you veritaserum" said Snape warningly, and Harry tried to think straight.  
  
"My cousin" he said finally, in defeat and Snape hmmed.  
  
"Dursley" he murmured, a nasty smile creeping over his face. "Dudley Dursley."  
  
"Yes" said Harry cautiously, wondering how Snape knew.  
  
"Was that all?"  
  
"Yes" he said quickly and Snape looked suspicious.  
  
"Mm" he said, and poured another potion down Harry's throat. "You're far too weak."  
  
"Thanks" said Harry wryly and shivered. He felt old.  
  
"And there was the spell as well" he said in a low voice, and Harry tensed. So Snape was trying not to scare him.  
  
"It was a dream" he said defensively. "I'm not that stupid!"  
  
A raised eyebrow. What did that mean? Did Snape believe him.  
  
"From the Dark Lord?"  
  
"No. Just my own mind."  
  
"Mm."  
  
There was silence, and then Snape shrugged.  
  
"Well, I might as well Floo both of us to the headmaster's office then" he said dispassionately. "It will at least save the cost of powder."  
  
Harry felt something cold clench in his stomach.  
  
"The headmaster's office?"  
  
"If you insist on lying to me then I have no other option. And I can't feed you veritaserum." He looked disappointed. "You're too weak. You'd die. Or at least go insane."  
  
"I wasn't lying" he said. "I-I read it. In a book. It just made me think how weird it would be. That there would be a spell like that."  
  
Snape looked piercingly at him.  
  
"I hope you're not lying to me, Potter" he said warningly, and Harry shrugged with a crooked smile.  
  
"Would I dare?" he asked jokingly, and Snape wondered just how much the Golden Boy had changed, and whether he would dare...  
  
"Why did your cousin lash you?" he asked, and Harry shrugged again.  
  
"We have a violent relationship" he lied. "My aunt and uncle try to break it up but Dudley. . .he never reacted well to being turned into a pig."  
  
"Mm" said Snape coolly "And yet they didn't treat your injuries?"  
  
"I didn't tell them" he replied defiantly. "I didn't want him getting into trouble."  
  
Disturbed by how well he was lying? Yes, considerably.  
  
"That was stupid, Potter."  
  
Harry hung his head and scuffed the ground with a toe. He felt sick.  
  
"I don't believe you" suddenly, and he looked up despairingly.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You're lying too easily."  
  
Harry frowned and said nothing. Snape sighed heavily.  
  
"You're a fool, Potter. An absolute fool."  
  
"I know" he said flatly, still staring at the ground. To have been so close and then fail...that stung. Always failing.  
  
"What am I supposed to do now?"  
  
Harry snapped.  
  
"I don't know! I don't care! Do excuse me for not being too worried about what your problem is in this whole mess. Do please forgive me for being so selfish as to tangle you up in my problems - I obviously begged for help so much that you had no other choice than to stick your big nose into my private affairs!"  
  
There was a stunned silence and then the exhaustion that had been threatening to overwhelm him all day did so, and he crumpled to the floor.  
  
Snape took a deep calming breath and tried to keep calm. After all, it was him who had instigated the talk in the first place. Perhaps he had been overly nosy.  
  
He cleared his throat, hoping it would wake the boy up. He stirred and whimpered but didn't move. So many mixed signals - he didn't know whether the boy was telling the truth or not. It was a valid story but one that he had trouble comprehending, for some reason.  
  
"Stupid boy" he grumbled and poked his shoulder. Harry's eyes opened, dark and tired. He didn't look well. He blinked once at Snape and his eyes rolled back into his head, giving the disconcerting impression of his face spasming as he tried in vain to stay awake.  
  
He grasped the boy's shoulders and pulled him upright. Floppy, yet light and unresisting.  
  
"Potter" he grumbled in his ear, and the eyes flickered once at him. Agony. Burning, stabbing pain behind closed lids. He knew; he'd been there before. He had probably caved before Potter. Had probably not hidden it so well. Had certainly not been as bad as this.  
  
"Open your eyes, Potter" he said wearily and Harry tried again, this time going to far as to pinch at the lids with pale, spindly fingers to try and stay alert. Snape was loathe to pump him with more potions, especially in his weakened state. He didn't know what to do, and frankly it wasn't meant to be his problem. He was not a Gryffindor teacher, and as such had no obligation to help the students.  
  
"But am I Gryffindor?" asked Harry quietly, his skin damp from the effort of staying upright. "The hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. I wanted to stay with Ron."  
  
He laughed quietly and Snape regarded him, wondering whether to silence him or whether to listen.  
  
"I thought we were good friends, but he said that I'd told them all. About him and 'Mione. Now none of them will speak to me. It's all your fault."  
  
"Potter" he said warningly, although there was a good deal of truth in the words.  
  
"I miss them" he said, his voice slurred, and Snape realised that he shouldn't be listening to these uncontrolled words. Suddenly angry, more with himself than Potter, he shushed him. The child was ill, should have been cared for months ago from the look of it, and he was just sitting allowing himself to take in the delirious ramblings of a teenager.  
  
He took one hand in his own and the green eyes flipped up to meet his quickly as he felt for a pulse.  
  
"I miss them" repeated Potter, and Snape shivered inwardly at the raw, feral expression on Potter's face. Unsettled, unnerved, he moved over to the grate and threw a handful of Floo powder in, trying not to catch Harry's eye as Pomfrey came bustling through and levitated him away to the Infirmary.  
  
Nobody saw him for a good few weeks. He was isolated in the Infirmary, and yet Snape couldn't shake the feeling of his presence. It was a riddle, and one that he wanted to unravel. Especially the question of Potter losing his magic, which was virtually unheard of. He had discussed it with Albus once; the old man had no more answers than he did, and was obviously keen on the idea of Severus staying away from the weakened boy.  
  
So he waited.  
  
And eventually, Potter marched into his class, slightly breathless, and sat quietly in a corner. He worked silently and well and left at the end, more stable on his feet than he had been that year. No announcements were made in staff meetings about him, as had occasionally been the case. Nothing suggested that there had been any problem in the first place. And part of him wondered if it had all been a trick, but the pieces fitted into place a little too well. He doubted that the boy had cast Torquus Absanguinis. Doubted that his magical abilities stretched that far.  
  
He wanted to keep him back one day, but had no valid reason, because Potter was acting perfectly. No fights with Malfoy or Weasley, no problems with the potions he was creating, no insubordination or sullen attitudes. But there was Occlumency to look forward to. Dumbledore had told Snape to put the lessons on hold until Potter was stronger, against Severus' better judgement, but surely it wouldn't be long now.  
  
Just as he was beginning to think that Potter was recovered, the pieces fell into place. One night, prowling the corridor, he heard the sound of retching. Stepping quietly into the bathroom, he squinted in the darkness and saw a familiar shape and a not-so-familiar sight. Harry Potter was thrusting his fingers down his throat with a feral urgency, forcing himself to vomit out the evening meal as quietly as possible. His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, shoulders trembling with...what? With mania? With the force of the vomiting? With fear?  
  
Snape stood silently in the corner, unsure as to what to do. With a final shudder and retch Harry stood up, straightened his shoulders, and flushed the toilet. He walked purposefully over to the sinks and examined his face in the dim light, splashing cold water over his cheeks and massaging his eyes.  
  
He took a deep breath and turned around, checking the room for any signs that he had been there. Then he turned and left, head held high.  
  
Snape's face remained impassive in the shadows and he didn't move for a long moment. Eventually he left the bathroom and made his way back down to the Dungeons, thinking.  
  
Meanwhile Harry was prowling the library. Maybe if he could find a book to read - preferably a non-shrieking one - sleep would come more easily. If nothing else, he could at least get ahead with some of his subjects. Like. . .Potions.  
  
It had occurred to him before that Potions was not so dissimilar to cookery, which he was fairly adept at. Perhaps he didn't have the scientific mind to be great at it, but he could at least try to appease Professor Snape a little.  
  
A quick inspection of a few books revealed that Snape was following an obvious order of practical lessons according to the homologous series of various different catalysts, and further reading meant that Harry could then predict the next lesson's work. So that was how Hermione did it... He jotted a few notes on some spare parchment that had been left on the table and skimmed through the next couple of chapters. If Snape would just explain some of the more basic concepts, the lessons would be much easier. Then again if everyone did extra work to this extent, Harry reflected, the students would get a lot more out of the lessons, and the Master's knowledge.  
  
Said Master paced up and down a few times, toying with the idea of calling Dumbledore. It was early morning now and he knew he wasn't going to get much sleep. The sounds of retching echoed in his head and made his stomach churn unpleasantly. No wonder the boy was so tired, so frail. But why? Why on earth go to such lengths to avoid having food inside oneself? It wasn't as though the boy had ever been anything but rake-thin anyway. In fact, he seemed to take an entire year to begin to look healthy after the summer, and then returned as gaunt as a Dementor. Did he find the lank hair and hollow eyes appealing, or was it a ploy to make himself invisible from the prying eyes of the wizarding world?  
  
He wasn't quite sure why he didn't talk to Albus. Perhaps it was bitterness from the headmaster requesting that he stayed away from Potter whilst he had been ill. Perhaps he saw something of his teenage self in the behaviour of the boy. The point was that he didn't report to the headmaster what he had seen (and heard), although that was undoubtedly the correct procedure.  
  
Instead, he decided to handle it in his own special way.  
  
As Harry turned to leave dinner the next day, Snape slipped out of the teachers entrance and followed the sound of his footsteps. He knew where Potter would be going now.  
  
Harry rinsed his mouth out with water and spat viciously into the basin, shivering. His eyes raised of their own accord to the mirror and he looked first into his bloodshot eyes and then into the questioning ones of Snape. He felt beyond anger or shock now, and simply shrugged in reply. Snape's arms remained folded and he waited patiently in silence for Harry to cast a cleaning charm on his mouth before he held the door open.  
  
"Where?" asked Harry nervously, and Snape motioned him to walk ahead.  
  
"My office"  
  
Harry obeyed, more through shock than a will to do what Snape said. He couldn't believe he'd been caught. Couldn't believe anyone had found out. Especially Snape. His heart thudded painfully in his chest and he wondered what was going to happen now. They were going to watch him all the time now, he was sure of it. He'd never get a moment's privacy. Snape already wanted to know. Maybe Harry was strong enough now to be plied with Veritaserum. Did Snape know? Between all the lies, Harry had become confused as to what was known and what was not.  
  
They were at his office. He was pushed in unceremoniously and sat dazedly in a chair opposite Snape's desk. The older man leaned in towards him from the other side, the flickering torchlight catching the creases on his face and making him look almost inanimate. His black eyes pierced Harry and he looked away quickly.  
  
"Why did you do that?"  
  
Harry shrugged, still looking at the desk. The wood was scratched and chipped and there were coffee stains in little circular patches, although all of the marked and unmarked parchments were lined up tidily.  
  
"Do you feel yourself to be overweight?"  
  
Another shrug. Maybe if he annoyed Snape enough he might kill him and get it over and done with. As though reading his thoughts, Snape leaned in further and narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Is it your intention to spare the Dark Lord the trouble and kill yourself, Potter? Or is it that you want to slowly disappear from the world?"  
  
Both sounded like plausible explanations to Harry. He meant to shrug a third time, but instead spoke.  
  
"Why do you care?"  
  
There was a long pause while Snape studied him, thinking over his answer. Harry dragged his eyes up to meet Snape's and tried to read them - they were blank.  
  
"Show me your arms."  
  
Harry felt slightly numb as he rolled his sleeves up to show the variety of cuts and scars. Snape was silent, studying each one in a way that made Harry's skin crawl. Eventually he nodded curtly and Harry rolled down his sleeves, waiting for whatever was coming next.  
  
"Does it make you feel better?"  
  
"Yes" he replied shortly, unnerved by Snape's calm demeanour. Then, "Yes, it helps, sir." as an afterthought, aware that he sounded quite rude enough.  
  
"Who knows?"  
  
"You. Nobody else. Sir."  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat.  
  
"Nobody?"  
  
"Nobody."  
  
They lapsed into silence; Harry felt himself relaxing despite his better judgement. Snape sat back in his chair and watched Potter. The boy looked less nervous than he had when he had entered the room, but he knew that he wouldn't gain anything from him. Not unless he gave something first.  
  
"I can't say that your well-being is a priority of mine at the moment" he admitted. "I am merely curious as to your mentality."  
  
Harry's eyes widened comically before he began to laugh. Snape waited stonily until he had finished and, as he had predicted, Harry began to talk. He talked about the sensations, the feelings, the inner voices that dictated what he did. He didn't talk from a personal viewpoint, his sentences brisk and concise, but it did explain a lot to Snape.  
  
"I see" was all he said when Potter looked like he had finished. They fell into silence again and Potter began to chew his nails, the habit annoying Snape intensely.  
  
"What are you going to do then?"  
  
Harry shrugged and Snape ground his teeth. He couldn't really be justified in feeling angry towards the boy after all that he had been told. Just when he was convinced Potter wouldn't answer, he took a deep breath.  
  
"I don't want to die. Not until after I've defeated Voldemort. Then I'll see if I find things worth coming back to and if I do I will."  
  
That had taken a lot of effort to say, and his teeth were clenched painfully together, Snape could hear him breathing shakily. The end of the sentence hung unsaid in the air and Snape looked sharply at him.  
  
"Well just try to hold yourself together until you've done what you must" he said, and Potter nodded tiredly, looking jaded.  
  
"Don't I always" he muttered, and Snape shrugged this time, never tolerant of dramatic statements. Taking his cue, Potter left.  
  
When Voldemort was defeated, Harry wasn't there. Harry was asleep in the dormitories along with all the other Gryffindors. A surprise raid on Lucius Malfoy's Manor had stumbled across the Death Eaters and Voldemort and they had been instantly captured and given the Dementor's Kiss. It was, to many, an unsatisfactory ending to the threat, but an ending nonetheless. Harry was largely ignored and that was the way he liked it. Much to his amusement, Snape received more plaudits for his spying activities than anyone else. Well, that's life. Serves you right, greasy bastard.  
  
Harry didn't stop cutting himself. It was something that he did to feel, and the sudden absence of being in the spotlight made it easier for him to disappear into himself. He had lost weight, a lot of weight. Nobody seemed to notice. Nobody seemed to care. He didn't care.  
  
Snape found him one day in the Astronomy Tower, watching the Quidditch Match on the big pitch. He looked oddly happy, his eyes shining in a sunken face, although his mouth was stretched into a thin line and his thin frame was hunched up.  
  
"The Seeker should be moving around more" he commented, and Snape raised an eyebrow. Potter didn't say anything else and he stood there feeling a little awkward. He hadn't been intending to find Potter but had seen him from across the pitch and wondered why he wasn't in the stands. Or indeed, why he wasn't on the pitch.  
  
"Not playing today?"  
  
"Nah"  
  
The boy sounded so childlike Snape nearly started, but checked himself. More silence ensued.  
  
"You seem strangely inconspicuous within the school" he tried again. "As though you were wasting away."  
  
A dry chuckle was the only response he got, and an infuriating shrug of the bony shoulders.  
  
"Are you annoyed that you did not take full credit for the decline of the Dark Lord?"  
  
"No"  
  
Snape's frail temper snapped and with an irritated hiss he spun on his heel and left.  
  
"I'm as happy as I've ever been" said Harry slowly, and Snape paused on the steps, barely breathing. "I just know that something's missing. In fact, a lot of things. I want to go back and start again but there's no magic in the world strong enough for me to do that. I don't want to celebrate because Voldemort is dead, I don't want the credit for holding him off once or twice. I want my parents back, I want justice for Sirius, I want all the dead people to come back to life. What's to celebrate when they're all gone? Everyone has just missed the point of the whole era."  
  
Snape twitched his lips into a sneer.  
  
"Yes, but what are you going to do about it?"  
  
The look Harry give him was filled with contempt and he didn't say anything, just turned back to the pitch.  
  
"I wouldn't deny the children any of this pleasure. Maybe some people feel it has been worth the losses to give their families some security, maybe it has."  
  
"You're still a child yourself" remarked Snape, and Harry shook his head but Snape continued nonetheless. "Just because you have suffered through some years, you are still a child at heart. You know it. A mature child, but a child nonetheless."  
  
Harry bit back a retort and still the potions master continued.  
  
"I do not presume to believe that you have had a happy life, but neither have you been constantly in pain and torment as so many were under the rule of Voldemort. Being a Wizard, you are decidedly advantaged over, for example, werewolves, vampires, goblins. You experience none of the conflicts between races that they and their families suffered. You have no comprehension of the torment that they went through."  
  
"Maybe not" he said blandly, his face expressionless. "I obviously don't know the feeling of pain."  
  
An image flashed in Snape's eyes. An image of a scarred wrist. He moved closer to Harry and watched the boy flinch away minutely, quickly disguised. He raised a hand but Harry was ready and didn't move. Still, it was enough.  
  
"Why did your magic fail?"  
  
The sudden change in tactics threw Harry for a moment and he blinked before answering.  
  
"I don't know. It got progressively worse after the summer. It was as though something was blocking my wand. I could feel the power inside me but it wouldn't come out."  
  
He blushed after this but the pieces slotted into shape for Snape in an instant.  
  
"Give me your arm "he said sharply, and Harry complied reluctantly. Trying to ignore the white ridges of scars, the scabby pink lines and the still bleeding ones, Snape turned the thin limb over in his hands. He could feel the muscles tense with fear as he probed at the bones. It wasn't hard to see the problem - the skin clung so tightly to his bones that they were clearly visible. One was warped out of place, bent over painfully.  
  
"Does it still hurt?" he asked softly. Potter nodded and tried to withdraw it but Snape kept his grip.  
  
"The bone is obstructing the flow of power" he explained, his voice suddenly sharp and clinical. "Magical impulses flow through a series of channels from the centre of your soul to your fingers, at which point they are channelled through the wand into a spell of some sort. The disfigurement prevents the passage of raw magical energy."  
  
Harry was silent for a moment, mulling it over.  
  
"Oh" was his final consensus. "Can it be fixed?"  
  
There wasn't hope in his reply; more like resignation. Snape nodded, looking calculatingly at him.  
  
"If you want it to be" he said. "Quite easily."  
  
"Oh."  
  
They stayed where they were, both thinking, before Harry shrugged.  
  
"Well, I'll be off then" he said calmly, and it took Snape a good few seconds to realise what was happening.  
  
"Not while I'm here, Potter" he snarled, catching the frail body close to him as he lunged towards the window. He didn't let go as Potter struggled in his arms, whimpering softly. He almost felt pity for a moment, but still kept his grip.  
  
"Not while I'm here" he repeated and the boy snarled.  
  
"Leave, then, if it offends you so much!"  
  
Slowly his shoulders slumped and he tried to pull away again, away from the window. Snape let him go reluctantly, feeling like he had been holding the child together for a few moments.  
  
"What now?" he asked dryly, and Harry shook his head numbly.  
  
"I don't know" he said defeatedly. "I don't care."  
  
Snape was acutely aware that one of his hands was still fisted in Potter's robes. He left it there.  
  
"I'm going" said Potter with finality, and Snape nodded curtly.  
  
"I am sorry" he said shortly. "I promised Albus I would do my part to mend you, as well as I could. Perhaps I should have tried harder."  
  
"How would you have mended me?" asked Harry with a touch of anger. "Am I physically broken?"  
  
"No. But. . ." Snape trailed off and looked at the boy in front of him.  
  
"Take care, Professor" said Harry, a touch of mockery in his voice. "Don't let your tongue get too sharp."  
  
Something twinged inside Snape's stomach at the attempt at brevity, and he forced his mouth up into a smirk.  
  
"Don't let your brain get too blunt" he replied snidely, and caught the boy's hand in a tight grip. Harry froze for a moment before returning the handshake and nodding his acceptance.  
  
"Goodbye" he said quietly, and he turned on his heel, walking down the stairs. Snape watched with his head held high as Potter crossed the Quidditch Pitch, stopping briefly to congratulate the Seeker as the game had ended. He slipped behind a Potting Shed and paced swiftly towards the Forest. Snape watched until the foliage swallowed up the young man, and stayed a moment longer than he needed to, straining his eyes for one more glance.  
  
With a sigh, he turned and left the astronomy tower, the feeling of the cold hand burning into his staying with him.  
  
THE END.  
  
My policy on reviews and flames is: as long as you're not going to tell me that I 'rok n thiz story wos well gud' or the reverse, then I would like to hear from you. Constructive criticism and flames are welcomed (flames make me laugh). I hope you enjoyed the story. I thought for a long time about how to end it and decided that this was the way I wanted. It's a bit ambiguous but eh. That's life. 


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